I've Never Heard of Southern Hospitality, and I'd Rather You Left
by tuckluck
Summary: Alfred's heard rumors of the Quartering Acts, but actually having to abide by them is something he never thought would happen to himself. Out of all the houses in the countryside, Captain Kirkland picks his house to stay at, and he's not happy. And he's going to resist all he can once he learns how.


Lately, Alfred's learned that, for practical purposes, it's never good to answer the door without a gun in hand. For self-defense purposes. He tries not to remind himself that carrying it with him before this probably would have gotten him in even more trouble than he's already in, because there's a feeling of safety that comes with the rifle in his hands.

Sadly, there's a limited amount of people you can shoot at without getting trouble. You can't shoot your neighbor's cow when you're hungry even if it walks past your house, you can't shoot your neighbor for not giving you the cow, and you especially can't shoot the British soldiers staying at your house.

They came to Alfred's door yesterday evening when the sun was setting, and there were four of them, all in red uniform caked with dirt, and one with choppy blond hair who seemed to be in charge of things. He hastily introduced himself as Captain Kirkland, and he was the one that responded to Alfred's outburst. As soon as Alfred saw who was at the door, the anger came quick and fast.

"Who do you think you are? Do I seriously have to let you guys in?" Alfred asked, standing in the doorway.

"Get out of the doorway, you unlicked cub." The blond soldier said, trying to barge in with his rifle. "The queen says you are to give us lodging, supplies, and whatever else we may need for the duration of our stay, so yes, you do."

Alfred didn't move.

"Me specifically? Can't you just go pick a different house?"

"I'm hungry now," one of the other soldiers muttered.

"You mean one that's not full of patriot scum?" another yelled. The captain looked over at him, then turned back. He didn't want to antagonize too much, but just enough to get the point across.

He continued: "We could, but yours has a certain charm."

While they were walking, they had already passed up the first house because of that same line of thinking, and it only served to make their feet more tired. He wasn't about to make the same mistake again. Even if the owner was against their occupation, he looked perfectly capable of meeting their needs that night. Reasonably muscular and in good health, he would survive if he was denied the comforts of his own home for a few nights.

Plus, he had a good face and all his teeth, which was better than how Britain pictured everyone over here.

The young colonist had never considered himself a patriot before now, because reading newspapers and pamphlets was boring, and that's all it seemed to be. He didn't get what was so enthralling about looking at a bunch of symbols on paper, but this was an infringement on his everyday life.

"Go away," Alfred repeated.

Then the captain turned to his men, and they all swarmed in at once. Alfred couldn't hold them back, so he took comfort in how it felt to punch one of them in the face. They knocked him out in return, but in Alfred's opinion, it was totally worth it. If he felt like standing up for himself, he couldn't ignore that.

He woke up with a headache at his own dinner table, surrounded by unfriendly faces. He noted with satisfaction that the one he had injured wasn't sitting there either, but it didn't do much to improve the situation. Most likely he was in Alfred's own bed recovering.

Just as he was rubbing his eyes, Alfred received a jab in the side from the blonde soldier from earlier, who informed him in hushed tones that he would need to have his wife set the table and prepare them dinner because it was getting late already. Taking another look, Alfred saw that the table was indeed a bare disappointment. His stomach growled, and the soldier jabbed it again.

"Ow!"

"Call her! And hurry up, you're lucky you're still alive after that vicious smack." he demanded.

"I'm not married. But if I was, I'm just saying that there's no way I'd bring my wife out here to be with you guys. You're awful!"

The colonist's constant excuses were starting to grate on the soldier's nerves, and he started to wonder if maybe it would have been easier to continue on to the next house. After two years of the Quartering Acts being in effect, it was rare for people to be this difficult anymore. Finally he decided to grab Alfred by the arm and drag him to the kitchen so he could help him prepare the food himself after he knew where everything was.

All Alfred could hear was the stomping of heavy boots as they soiled his rug and his floor, but he had to ignore it if he was going to get through this night. When the other man started opening cabinets, he was surprised.

"Why are you helping me?" Alfred asked.

"Well, we need to eat, too, and you're not much help on your own. And don't think of sending me out again, because I can assure you, that won't happen."

Alfred directed the Captain to the leftovers, and they were brought out shortly. They weren't particularly tasteful, but aside from that, everything went smoothly. Alfred hated having to set out the silverware himself because it meant he was serving the soldiers directly, but it couldn't be avoided; Kirkland was watching his every move. He even sat next to the green-eyed man. Alfred could have sworn that he pulled their chairs closer just to bother him. They were so close that Alfred didn't even have the elbow room he needed to cut his steak without bumping into the red sleeves of the officer. And every time their sleeves, touched, the soldier would look over at him, thinking...what?

Each time, Alfred imagined it was something different. The first time, he was disgusted with Alfred's eating habits. It didn't slip his notice that he had grabbed the biggest piece for himself. Somehow he convinced himself that a hardened glare meant he was sorry for coming in his house and that he would leave in the next five minutes, but that never happened. No matter what it meant, it was the same glare over and over again until it finally softened into something more natural. They were pretty eyes, Alfred noticed, as long as they weren't hidden under a stupid hat.

Conversation was stifled as the starving company wolfed down their food, but once the atmosphere relaxed as much as it could, the questions started coming. Alfred had to do his best to hold back his indignation.

"Unmarried, huh. That explains how you can get through life with no manners whatsoever. You've had no one around to make them useful."

"I haven't done anything! You're the one that just broke into my house!" Alfred said.

"You're not saying anything, either. Have you brought us to dinner only to ignore us?" someone else asked.

Alfred paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. His food was becoming less and less appetizing the more he had to listen to. Whoever thought the British were supposed to be gentlemen were dead wrong. He tried to leave the table and go in another room, but the one next to him, Captain Kirkland, caught his hand and pulled him back. He held onto it for the rest of the meal, giving Alfred plenty of time to dirty up his white gloves with all the dirt from his hands.

And Alfred took a little satisfaction in that.

Still, he felt like he was being treated like a child, being stuck here like this. He couldn't remember the last time he'd held someone's hand. He whispered to the person next to him that he should let go, because he wasn't going to leave again, but he didn't get an answer. Instead, he silently finished his dinner close enough to lean his head on the shoulder of someone whose face annoyed him because of all it stood for.

If they thought he was being rude, he felt the least he could do was start some kind of conversation here. Alfred was usually very good at talking in normal situations, and it was something he enjoyed when he was with the right people. The first thing he wanted to know was how long he would have to share his house with other people, because he had gotten used to living alone ever since his parents left him this house; it was hard to go back to being crowded in with four other people, but it looked like he had to do it.

They were staying for three days, he learned, and he would probably need to slaughter another chicken before then. He never liked asking others to get him out of tough situations, but maybe he could call for help in the meantime.


End file.
